


Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell

by fid_gin



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Religion Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fid_gin/pseuds/fid_gin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Being with Daryl has always been about letting go of her old life, of watching it burn...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Daryl and Beth continue travelling together long after the funeral home.
> 
> Title is taken from the album by Social Distortion, whom I imagine Daryl would be a huge fan of
> 
> I put a Religion Kink tag on this JIC, because there's quite a lot of religious imagery in amongst quite a lot of sex. :)

The thing about first kisses is they only happen once.

The long look, the awkward lean, the first foreign brush of another human being's lips which, with Daryl, would come with the soft bristle of mustache. Beth imagines how it would tickle at first and then, how she'd kiss him till it rubbed her raw.

The inquisitive alien-tentacle touch of tongue, the shared hot breath, the grasping hands...Beth imagines all of these while they're running through the brush and the branches which whip and scratch at her arms, or when they're hiding in some empty, stinking charnel house of a building waiting for a herd to pass. It will only happen once _if_ it happens at all, and so she imagines she should enjoy these moments of anticipation and feel grateful or each sweet second. But instead she just feels _ready_ , and greedy for it.

Curious, too – will it be while they're hunting for food, quietly creeping through the humid heat? Will it be in relief after one of them has saved the other from the drooling, snarling jaws of a walker? Will it be while they're grabbing what passes these days for a bath in some stream, or in the middle of the night in whatever camp they've secured, illuminated by campfire flames?

But it's none of those, as it turns out. It's in church.

It's abandoned, of course; just another forgotten building falling apart after the end of the world, but Daryl confirms it's safe after inspecting every cranny of the interior with his crossbow aimed and ready, it's un-bloodstained and corpse-free and, with the sun hanging low in the sky and only one entrance, Daryl proclaims it a good place to hole up for the night.

It shouldn't, but being in a church still makes Beth feel peaceful. Even if He has forsaken them, the thought that God might have _some_ kind of a plan is, well...sadly comforting. Unsentimental Daryl, on the other hand, kicks and smashes apart pews and chairs, tears pages out of a hymn book to start a fire. Beth isn't sure if she's annoyed or grateful.

_Nearer, My God, to Thee_ curls and blackens as she stares into the fire. Daryl whittles silently next to her – makeshift arrows for his bow, since his old ones are falling apart.

_Blessed Assurance. What a Friend We Have in Jesus. The Old Rugged Cross._ It's like watching her childhood burn away in front of her. All the wistful, joyful songs sung with her father and her mother and brother and sister, just _knowing_ that God was watching out for her, and loving Him for it.

Beth doesn't know she's crying until she feels a tear drop hit her hand. She realizes the sound of metal shaving wood has stopped next to her, and turns to check on Daryl. He's looking at her.

And it happens.

Daryl leans over and she closes her eyes and he kisses her and it's perfect, it's just like she thought it would be. Both rough and restrained, Daryl claims her mouth with his. His mustache and beard scratching her skin, his hand curling around the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair to hold her in place as he rises up, sets aside his knife with his free hand and shrugs off his crossbow and shifts her under him, never breaking the kiss.

She'd thought, when it happened, that it would be rushed – it would have to be. But it dawns on Beth with something like shock that there's absolutely no need to hurry through this: the church is the safest place they've stayed in a long time and they could, theoretically, lie here and make out for hours like high school kids too caught up in the ecstasy of the moment to rush ahead to what comes next.

Daryl seems to realize it too, relaxes his body against and on top of hers, lets her feel his weight before he nudges her legs apart with his knee to make room for himself. She never thought in a million years she'd have Daryl Dixon between her legs, and it's like a warm gunshot to her abdomen. Or an arrow.

She's had plenty of time to imagine it...since that moment he'd come to her cell to tell her that Zach was dead, and that he felt responsible. Beth had thought for a moment that he _was_ going to kiss her then, after she had hugged him and he hadn't run off but had looked at her closely for a moment. She'd known he was probably just waiting to make sure she was okay, but she'd played out a much different scenario in her head and with her hands later that night.

Or maybe even before that: Beth remembers when the man now kissing her slowly and thoroughly was some stranger rolling up to her daddy's farm on his motorcycle, intriguing and sexy with his hedge trimmer hair and his toned arms and swagger. He'd been more like a touring rock star to her then, stopping through her town, giving her someone to quietly moon over while he'd searched relentlessly for that poor little girl. Beth is ashamed to admit it, but in those first few days after her dad was killed and the prison destroyed, her only coherent thought other than **PAIN** and **NO** and **WHY** had been how grateful she was that at least she was with Daryl. In an unsafe world, it's as close to 'safe' as a girl can feel, she figures.

Daryl slides one hand across her stomach and down the front of her jeans, and she's embarrassed when she feels him gasp against her mouth at how wet she is. But he pulls his hand out of her panties, brings it to his mouth and breaks the kiss to suck his fingers, and all she can say is “Oh.”

“Can I take 'em off you?” he asks, jerking his head toward her lower half to indicate her pants, his voice even lower than usual. She nods because they have all the time in the world, it feels like, and it's Daryl yanking off her boots and tossing them over his shoulder, Daryl peeling down her jeans and her underwear with them, _Daryl fucking Dixon_ following fabric with his lips down the length of her thigh...she thinks she might die from the thrill of it.

Naked from the waist down, she tries to lay still and not squirm when he sits back and just looks her over. What does he see when he looks at her? She told him once that she knew he saw her as just another dead girl, but they've come miles and weeks since then and she's still alive, so maybe now he's just a tiny bit amazed by her.

“You tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. She nods again.

“Uh huh. I mean, no, I don't want you to.”

Settling between her legs, he pushes her thighs apart and her knees fall open. Beth has never had a man look at her up close like this before, and she's counting in her head trying to remember if she washed down there _yesterday_ or was it the day before, is she filthy and repulsive and why is she even worrying considering Daryl's just as filthy as she is? Then he drapes one of her legs over his shoulder, nuzzles his lips against the soft tuft of her pubic hair and she feels his breath and nothing else matters any more.

He gives an exploratory lick and her breath hitches, then he goes to work on her and she can't vocalize the almost _involuntary_ pleasure of it. Beth had no idea it would feel like this, this is territory she never covered with Jimmy or Zach, no time, not like now, and she's so glad it's Daryl to taste her like this for the first time. His tongue swipes at her clit and she grabs him by the hair and fucks his mouth, thighs gripping his face, back arching and toes curling. She shouts his name when she comes.

Releasing her leg, resting his chin on her abdomen, Daryl wipes his mouth. “Should have warned me you were a screamer,” he says. “Every walker within a mile heard that.”

“I didn't know I was,” she says, staring at the ceiling of the church, her chest still heaving. Lifting her head, she looks down her body and meets Daryl's gaze. “Should we stop?”

“Hell no,” he growls in a way that gets her stomach fluttering all over again, like she didn't _just_ have a mind-bending orgasm.

The night is silent except for the crackle of the song-fire ( _Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..._ ) and the sound of him unbuckling and unzipping his pants is _deafening_ , then he settles his weight on her once more, reaches down and makes an adjustment and slides into her unbelievably easy, goes deep and it almost hurts because he's a little bigger than those _boys_ she's been with or maybe it's just been awhile, but then he moves so slow, barely at all, just rocking against her and inside of her and any pain dissipates. This is so right.

“Oh God,” Beth keens, opening her eyes and seeing the moon through a stained glass window as she says it.

“You gonna call on God, 'least we're in the right place,” Daryl bites out, echoing her thoughts. She can smell herself on his breath and wonders if she'll go to Hell for screwing in a church, but who is she kidding – she's _been_ in Hell, _this_ is Heaven.

Mindful of what he said about walkers, she tries to hold in her cries and any noises Daryl makes are muffled against her neck – he sucks the blood to the surface of her skin, he nibbles her jaw, he licks her throat and she feels devoured, again, by Daryl. She'll wear these hickeys on her neck and, Beth thinks, if they come across any other survivors they'll see and they'll know that she's _his_. _Fuck yes_ , and only when he covers her mouth does she realize she squealed that out loud.

His hair brushes her face, a bead of sweat drips off his nose and hits her shoulder, he's moving faster and there's an urgency in his voice when he asks “You close?”

“I think...yeah...” Working one hand down between them, all Daryl has to do is brush his fingers across her clitoris, _strum_ her, and she scratches prayers down his back and shudders and comes again, only dimly aware of him pulling her close and shaking. She thinks he says her name. It sounds holy when he says it.

Back to silence again, disturbed only by the telegraph ticks of cicadas outside and the heavy breathing of the two humans collapsed together on the church floor. “ _Jesus,_ ” Daryl says finally, rolling off of her. Beth can appreciate the sentiment.

“Why now? I mean, why here?” she asks, looking over at him. She can see him raise one shoulder in a laying-down shrug.

“Why not,” he answers. It's a Daryl-answer: she knows he gives a lot more thought and feeling to things than he shows.

“I'm glad it was here,” she continues, snuggling up to him. She expects him to maybe pull away because that's what Daryl does when confronted with affection, but he slides his arm under and around her, pulls her closer. “It's like that shack. We both have places to let go of, I guess.”

Several minutes pass, and she is on the verge of drifting off to sleep in his arms. She thinks he believes she _is_ asleep because after a long while he says, quietly: “That's why.” An answer to her question. Being with Daryl has _always_ been about letting go of her old life, of watching it burn – from the farm, to the prison, to her diary... Tomorrow they'll burn this place down, too, or maybe first she'll have him fuck her against the altar as the sun comes up.

Somewhere between the Heaven of the abused angel she lies next to, and the Hell of the resurrected cannibal souls outside, Beth Greene falls asleep, and doesn't dream.


End file.
